


Teeth and a Bullet

by DoubleMastectomy



Category: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: (mildly), Angst, Emetophobia, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mental Breakdown, POV Second Person, Paranoia, Pre-Canon, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Stream of Consciousness, Suicidal Thoughts, and this isn't a ship based fic it's mostly just val alone with his thoughts, doesn't have a downer ending but there's not much comfort here either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleMastectomy/pseuds/DoubleMastectomy
Summary: Val Velocity is used to spiraling every now and again, but nothing's more frustrating than when the most innocuous things set off his paranoia and ruin his day.
Relationships: Val Velocity/Vinyl (Fabulous Killjoys)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	Teeth and a Bullet

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is literally just a mental breakdown so please only read this if you can handle that content. 
> 
> Also because this is second person pov, negative and paranoid thoughts (including just outright insults) are repeatedly spoken directly to the reader. So if you think that may upset or trigger you, please don’t read this! Only read this if you know you’re in the proper headspace to separate this fic from your reality / separate this fic’s emotions from your emotions.

You’re sweating around the corner out back, leather jacket sticking to your back and arms like rubber tape. The Nest’s shallow roof hardly gives you the much needed relief of cool shadow, not that you’d deserve it anyway. And beneath your burning eyelids all you can think about is how fucking dry your mouth is.

The sun is directly above you now, but soon enough its angle will be blinding. You absentmindedly scratch at the dirt beside you. You've been sitting here like this doing nothing for far too long. Your mouth is dry. You need to get water, you know you do but you _can’t_. Not right now at least.

Because there it is again, the sudden sound of joyous laughter trailing out from the Nest’s kitchen around the corner. This shouldn’t be bothering you. Vaya and Vamos are in there, your good friends - your best friends. You love them. But fuck they’re being so _loud_. Their fast words are unintelligible through the wall behind you, damped through that wooden filter, but your brain fills in the blanks the best it can. They laugh again. See, that was directed towards you. They’re laughing at you.

You shrink back against the wall at that, electric fear racing through your veins. Fear that maybe they’ll see you like this, somehow, and if they see you like this then you’re fucked. Wouldn’t you be? No, they’re just laughing, at nothing important and especially not at you. You don’t need to wait for them to leave, they aren’t a threat to you. You know that, they don’t even give a shit about you. They aren’t laughing at you. 

You anxiously look around at the landscape ahead of you, barren, brittle and cracked. The sky is white. The sun is sadistic.

Vaya tells what must be another joke, their voice rising in pitch at the end in expectation of Vamos’ responding cackle. This shouldn’t be bothering you, there’s no reason for it to. Nothing bad is happening. This is all they ever do anyway. They laugh about stupid dumb jokes and gossip, loud and shrill - there it is again - and then they just sit together when they’re done to talk even more. They don’t shut up, this is _normal_. It doesn’t concern you. It’s no threat to you. But -

“fuckinghatemyself” the words, together as one, fall off your tongue interrupting your train of thought. Where they came from, who’s they are, or what muscle memory remembers them, you don’t know. But you don’t care. You slam a weak palm over your lips and damn yourself for saying such a thing out loud, what if someone hears you, what if _they_ hear you.

Stop getting sidetracked. Water. You need a fucking drink of water, and you wish you weren’t thinking about it again but the back of your throat scratches against your tongue. And yet you can't go, not yet, Vaya and Vamos are still in the kitchen and listen listen listen you can hear them laughing, Vaya laughs again so loud it’s like a scream against your eardrums - FUCK. What could possibly be funny enough to warrant that? You shrink into yourself again, your heart shaking in your chest, like a soda can the pressure builds.

Why are you so scared of them? Your friends respect you, worship you. They’d never hurt you. They aren’t gossiping about you. How fucking narcissistic do you have to be to think that? This isn’t about you, idiot, this was never about you, they probably don’t even care about you to begin with. They aren’t thinking about you so why do you keep thinking about them. Why do you want them to shut up so badly? Mind your own business, jackass. A cabinet slams from the other side of the wall. You flinch. That’s an accident right? They didn’t mean to slam that? Stop being so sensitive, of course not, shut up. This is why they hate you. What are they laughing about now? What are they plotting against you now, what are they going to do to you? What do they want from you? You scratch at your sweaty neck, gripping the ground with your other hand. If everything could only just stop for a second, just a second.

SHUT UP it’s nothing. They aren’t doing anything out of the ordinary and there’s no reason for you to feel this way. This is why they hate you. The roof’s shade slides up above eye level now, your vision flashes bright white in the sun. The back of your eyes sting. You can feel the stress building in your chest.

Fuck, your heart hurts doesn’t it. Stress always goes straight to your heart, but at least it doesn’t skip anymore, you suppose that should be a relief. Or it should be. You don't even the mercy of a heart attack to get it all over with, no, no, you need to be alive to feel this. You need to be alive for these emotions. They're yours and yours alone and this is what you deserve. You dig your nails into your wrists.

“I’msofuckingsor-” you catch yourself this time, biting down into the confession mid-sentence. It’s stupid, anyway, these reflexes. This instinct to say the thoughts you don’t really mean. And how could you mean them? You don’t hate yourself, not really, it’s more complicated than that (it always is). And you’re not fucking sorry either. For what? Where is that coming from? Why should you be sorry? If anything Vaya and Vamos should be the ones feeling sorry for doing this to you, on purpose too you bet, you bet they _know_ you’re out here hands over your ears like some sort of pathetic child, you bet they just love it too, they love to watch you squirm for once, they love to see you knocked down a peg. Is this what they're laughing about right now? Is this what they were planning to do to you or is there still something more for you to dread? They should be fucking sorry for this. But you? No. Not you, you’re a fucking killjoy and you don’t need to apologize, never, you prefer to say your words with your teeth and a bullet.

Fuck, what an edgy thing to say. What a pathetic dog you are, all bark no bite, too angry even to move, fuck you, fuck you, pathetic, stupid, broken, they hate you and this is why they hate you because you’re a goddamn a burden, a _thing_ to be dealt with, to be put up with, a liability. What sort of leader are you, what sort of leader do you think you are, you think you can handle being in charge of anything, you really think that? You’re just a control freak. Manipulative bastard. You’re not built to lead the killjoys. You can’t even lead yourself, and like a knife to the chest you know more than anything else that the other killjoys could never respect you the way you love them.

Your mouth hurts.

You need to go to the kitchen.

You need to get water.

The twins' voices grip into you like needles, like razor blades, but you’ll need to let them dig into you further now because you need to go towards them, not away, because you need a fucking drink of water. Could it be any simpler?

How stupid, you can’t even manage such a basic survival skill. In the desert, at the Nest at least, there’s much more important things to worry about than simply water of all things. No one fucking worries about this shit but you. It’s a habit no one thinks about but you and here you are thinking about it because you’re paralyzed in place like a pathetic dog! You pull at your hair. Soft white fringe falls into your blurry vision. You pull at it harder, come on Val, this is why everyone hates you.

If you had anything in the pit of your stomach right now you’d throw up. Stupid asshole, what are you so scared of, do you even know? It sounds like they’re having a good time in there, shouldn’t you be happy too? Shouldn’t you want to join them? To join your friends having so much fun without you? How hard could that be, to walk in there with them, laugh with them, smile with them, they’re your friends, and this is why they hate you. You’re shaking. They hate you, they want you dead. This is why they hate you. You feel like you’re going to throw up and you scratch at your ribs.

But you need water. Emotions are nothing compared to physical needs, just put those aside for a minute and get some fucking water you piece of shit.

But they’re so loud in there, what are they doing to you, why do you feel like your head is splitting apart, why does this always happen, where does this come from, what are you remembering, you don’t know, you can’t remember.

You scratch at your wrists, snap out of it, snap out of it! You’re being irrational, you’re being irrational and weak and stupid and they don’t hate you but oh my god.

They fucking hate you and want you dead.

Wait. Things are quiet now. They’re so fucking quiet, how long have they been this way? Could you really not hear the blissful silence over your own screaming thoughts?

“Fuckyou.” you say to no one and to everyone at once.

“F-” you bite your words again.

At least the silence washes into your burning mind and chest and lungs like aloe vera, you're okay, alright?

Your heart drums as fast as ever. Its toxic blood pulsing through your veins, through your arms and neck and legs. Through your nauseated guts. Through your baked throat.

You just need water, that’s it.

So you stand up on crooked legs. Not that hard. See how easy this is? You’re just acting irrational. Why? For pity points? If anyone could see you now they’d fucking hate you for being this way. They already hate you. That’s what they were laughing about, they were laughing about you, only a matter of time before something happens. Who knows what, but something, something, something, when you least expect it _something_ will happen, bad and awful and final. So you better expect it.

No, shut up. Okay. You can manage this, can’t you? Can you at least manage this, idiot? You can’t let yourself be trapped out here forever, you need to go inside. Your whole life is inside the Nest, you should be able to live in your own home, so why can’t you?

You take a moment to wipe the sweat off your pits under your scorched jacket with the sleeves of your shirt. Disgusting. But whatever, whatever, you don’t care. Disgusting animal. An animal, a dog, a dog that can’t even take care of itself, how useless. This is why people hate you. This is why they want you dead. You take a step to move. The twiggy weeds grind beneath the heel of your boot.

You jump before you even process the sound of something banging against the wall, loud, like a clap, like a bang. Another cabinet door? Or, what was that? You can hear them again, they’re still in there, talking, they’re talking again. What are they so happy about, why are they so happy.

You brush your hair back with your hand, tugging it, jolting your attention back to the task at hand with the brief twinge of pain against your roots. Take a breath in and out of your tired lungs. Gather yourself. Act normal.

You’re normal, you’re more than normal, pull yourself together or they’ll see you like this and they’ll hate you and they’ll want you dead and you should be dead, so pull yourself together and act normal for once. You’re in charge here. You’re their leader. They look up to you for guidance and support and the moment they see how fucked up you really are they’ll move on, find someone better and more fit for the job. Planned obsolescence is what this is. So do your job, be normal, breathe.

You breathe.

In.

Out.

Okay?

Are you okay now?

Can you manage to function now?

Can you manage to face your friends now, asshole?

Pathetic, stupid, idiot, just act normal for once and stop being weird and crazy and paranoid.

They did nothing wrong after all. It’s you who’s wrong. Breathe.

Vaya and Vamos don’t even glance in your direction when you walk in. Vamos is draped across the kitchen counter, legs crossed, while Vaya sits in a chair in the corner. They only look at each other, continuing their conversation, they don’t care. You still can’t make the words out though, you feel like your ears are underwater. You scowl, it doesn’t matter.

There isn’t much room in here, the decrepit kitchen being just the smallest offshoot of the Nest’s main living space. So you’re practically right next to them as you open up the broken mini fridge, not even plugged in, and pick out a bottle of room temperature water.

There. Done. You hold your tension close and protected in your teeth, jaw clenched, beneath your short frown.

“Hi Val,” Vamos greets finally, swaying their head to face you, a grin spread across their naive ignorant face.

Of course, you knew this would happen. Just act normal. “Hey.” Your voice is flat and cold but they accept it. And before they can say anything else, you walk back out, screen door slamming behind you.

The interaction passes so quick it’s like you’d never left your hiding spot, hiding in the vanished shade. Already the memory blurs. Already your sense of time has erased it entirely. You’re safe again, alone, like you were, like you always were. You’d gotten all worked up over nothing. You lean back against the rusty siding.

Except you can still hear them in there, around the corner, through the door, on the other side of these thin walls, laughing again, there they are again, and this time you know for sure it’s about you. Forgiving doubt has abandoned you like your friends soon will. They’re laughing at you because they hate you, you’re just too stupid to accept it, too naive, too hotheaded, idiot, pathetic, you’re a fucking child holding a tantrum. They hate you. And you have half a mind to confront them about it, but you won’t give them an excuse to stop lying. They need to make that first move themselves if they want you gone.

You drink the water. Warm, it tastes bitter like your mouth, like the hot plastic housing it. You’d gotten so worked up over nothing and now you’re rewarded with nothing but disgust, but maybe that’s the pessimism talking. Stop being so pessimistic, this is why everyone hates you.

Acid rises in your throat. You want to vomit, you need to vomit. This is your fault, for not being good enough, for not being there for them. Look at you, avoiding the people you’ve sworn to protect. It’s your fault you feel this way, you deserve this, you deserve to be hated, and if they don’t hate you yet (which they don’t, you know they don’t, you'd know that if only everything could shut up) then they _should_ hate you. They need to hate you, all of them, and they will. The V’s will wake up one day and realize what a false prophet you are, and then you’ll be sorry you ever dared bother them. You’re still the same boy you were when you left the city, rotten to the core. Rotten, pathetic, idiot, dumbass. They need to choose their friends better next time before they get hurt. Before they hurt you. Before they leave you for dead, crow food, that’s all you are and that’s all you were ever meant to be. The great Val Velocity will rot with the worms, drowning in soil just like every other diluted killjoy. And you deserve that. That’s all you deserve.

Your nails are digging into your arms again, scratching at your wrists like barbed wire. If only it were that easy, but you don’t deserve to die, you deserve to suffer here amongst your demons. Amongst your friends. What difference is there anyway, they all want you gone.

The sun radiates against you, your jacket like an oven, you sweat, you’re red with heat, but you deserve this too. You deserve to be out here, shunned.

Fuck, it’s too much, these thoughts, endless, repeating, circular, a heavy lead weight to each of them, but everyone wants you dead don’t they, you deserve to die, shut up, shut up, shut up.

Rolling over so you’re not sitting anymore but almost laying, crumpled up into a miserable downward ball, you press your head into the dirt, your face against the cool ground looking for any relief from this pressure inside your head. You clutch your stomach. You pull at your hair. Stupid, pathetic, idiot, do you even see yourself now, is this what you’ve become? Is this how low you'll fall? Who are you trying to impress right now. You smile slightly, out of anxiety, out of the deprecating humor of the situation. This is why they hate you.

The empty darkness of your own shadow and your wrenched-shut eyes is enough to pacify your mind at least. You twist your forehead harder against the gravel, rocks digging into your too-fragile skin, leaving marks, leaving bruises you hope.

You don’t know how long you stay like that. You only keep track of time by the slow quiet rise and fall of your spine.

Stale wind blankets around your tense body. How late is it now? Does it matter? Your spine rises and falls again. How much time have you wasted over nothing? Does it matter? You breathe. Do you still want to die? Do you still hopelessly ache for an escape you don’t deserve? Does it matter?

You breathe in. And out. You don’t know what else to do. There’s nothing else to do. You’ve resigned yourself to this fate.

What are you doing all this for? Attention? Validation? If they all hate you anyway, who are you doing this for? You wish you could stop, you would if you could, you wish you could think, you wish there was more in your head than just ringing static.

You don’t know how long it is before the shadow that cloaks your hidden face grows deeper. You don’t know how you can even tell with your eyes closed like this, maybe you can just sense it, but someone stands above you. What a sight you must be now, curled up like this, hiding from nothing. Pathetic, some leader you are. Some killjoy.

The dirt beside you crunches beneath the weight of someone, fuck, here to laugh at you probably. Tell you off for this pathetic display. A hand nervously rests on your tense rounded shoulder, you can feel it through the leather, fuck, stop, you don’t want this. You don’t deserve this. You don’t want this.

A sad breath sighs by your ear. They’re leaning against you now, on the ground with you, why, what did you do, how did this happen, and do they hate you yet? Is that what this is? Annoyed pity? When are they gonna realize they hate you, when are they going to hurt you.

“Val…”

It’s Vinyl. Of course it is. Why is it always him. Isn’t he tired of you yet?

Face red, you look up, blinded by sunlight for the first time in what must’ve been hours. Your eyes adjust to his backlit form.

“I’m sorry -”

He cuts you off with a hug. Your eyes burn. Why do your eyes burn? Are you gonna cry? What’s wrong with you, this is why they hate you.

“Fuck -” you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. You don’t want this, can’t he mind his business, leave you alone. “Fuck you.”

He cradles your head and pulls you in close. Like you’re a thing to be taken care of, no! It should be the other way around, this isn’t right. You should be in charge here. You don’t deserve this. You’re acting ridiculous, this is why he hates you.

You can feel his breath on your back as he holds you.

He loves you.

Fuck. He _thinks_ he loves you. Vinyl loves you, he really loves you, you’re loved. But when is he gonna turn on you, this isn’t right, why doesn’t he loathe you like he should, like anyone in their right mind should. He loves you.

You’re loved.

You laugh a bit under your breath, you can’t help it. “Fuckinghateyou, you’re so stupid. Fuckyou. I’m sorry. I-”

You’re breathing heavy again. He pulls away, still holding you, just from an arm's distance now. He’s crying. Of course he is, stupid, so fucking stupid, this if your fault. This is why everyone hates you.

“S-” your throat can’t force you to say the things you don’t mean, you won’t let it. “I love you.”

He brushes your cheek. And his eyes are tragic, glimmering in dimming sunlight, in the blue evening.

Your heart is beating away from you. You hate it but you’re scared of him. Of course you are, he hates you, he wants you gone just like the twins do. It’s only a matter of time before they all turn on you. No.

He loves you, despite everything he -

You shake your head letting your hair slip over your vision.

“Let's go back inside,” he says low and soft, “Please?”

Okay.

Without a word you let him stand you up. And leaning into him now, you let him walk you back inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Well that's that! Thoughts? Don't forget to like comment and subscribe uwu


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